


come morning light

by hopeless_hope



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Dad!Tony, Depression, Dissociation, Exhaustion, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump, Worried Tony Stark, kind of?, soooo much angst bc i am a monster, yikes can you tell im projecting again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 12:57:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16619411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_hope/pseuds/hopeless_hope
Summary: It's a bad brain day.(In which Peter is caught in a depressive current, but one Tony Stark is there to make sure he doesn't get swept away.)





	come morning light

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Taylor Swift's song "Safe and Sound"

It’s a bad brain day.

Peter knows this from the second he wakes up and registers the syrupy feeling in his lungs and the heaviness in his soul that has no explanation. At least, not right now.

He breathes in, and the effort it takes to do that alone nearly tires him to the bone, and he’d give just about anything to roll over and sleep the rest of his depressive haze away.

But school doesn’t care about any of that, so when his alarm goes off, he gathers his strength and gets ready for the day. (He uses that term loosely. He doesn’t feel like he can possibly be ready for whatever the world wants to toss at him today.)

When he gets to school, he’s greeted by Ned, who, upon realizing Peter’s not going to start the conversation, takes up the slack and fills the silence. But from the way Ned glances at him worriedly whenever he thinks Peter isn’t looking, Peter knows that he’s caught on.

They’d started a system awhile back.

Ever since Ben died, Peter had been wrecked with episodes of depression and anxiety that seemingly hit him out of nowhere. The anxiety - now that makes sense. Peter’s always been an awkward person, never quite getting the hang of social interaction, a loose thread in the fabric of social hierarchy.

But the depression. God, that’s the worst. After Ben, sadness permeated Peter in an ever-present current. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep - he stopped talking altogether. And May, desperate and grieving and so scared of losing someone else, had sent him to therapy. He came back with a bottle of pills and a shiny new diagnosis of clinical depression.

With the help of his meds, the current that he’d once been so swept away in, slowed and evaporated to a shallow pool, mostly manageable but still capable of weighing him down. Most days, he floated near the top, able to go about his day normally. And other days, he had to tread water to do anything. And every so often, out of absolutely nowhere, he’d wake up laying at the bottom of the pool.

Ned knows all of this, though, having been there from the beginning. He got to see Peter in each stage, had learned to deal with it better than almost anyone, save for May. He recognizes the signs, can spot the heaviness in Peter’s posture a mile away. He knows not to treat Peter differently or delicately. Ned simply fills the silence and picks up Peter’s slack, steering him throughout the day.

And lunch, Ned grabs Peter an apple, casually setting it in front of him with a look that allows no argument. With Peter’s enhanced metabolism, skipping meals is much more dangerous, but on days like these, so much as opening his mouth is enough to wear him down.

In classes, he does the bare minimum, knowing Ned will give him the notes later. Peter wouldn’t be able to retain any information if he tried, anyway. He watches teachers with glazed eyes and tries to breathe through the thick fog that seems to surround him. He wonders if he’ll choke on it.

The day passes by slowly and yet all at once when he spends it deep inside his own head. Peter’s painfully aware of the tightness in his chest that seems to make every second stretch on insurmountable, and yet, suddenly he’s walking out into the sun, students all around him leaving.

Ned patiently leads him forward, stopping suddenly at the sight of the familiar black car. He swears.

“Crap, Peter, you have the internship today, don’t you?” Ned asks, not expecting an answer. Not that it matters, he thinks, because  _of course_  Peter has the internship today. It’s a Thursday, and Peter has the internship every Tuesday and Thursday after school, an arrangement that had been set up shortly after the homecoming fiasco.

Peter swallows thickly, anxiety suddenly breaking through the haze. He opens his mouth to speak, to tell Ned to ignore the car and take him home, because he hasn’t had a bad brain day like this since before he met Mr. Stark, and he doesn’t think he can handle putting on a facade of normality.

Just as he’s about to tug Ned in the opposite direction, he sees Happy get out and make his way to the passenger side of the vehicle, gesturing for Peter to hurry up, and Peter fills with dread.

“Peter, do you want me to tell him you’re not feeling good?” Ned asks worriedly. “I can just say you’re sick and should probably go home.”

And God, Peter is so tempted to nod, but then he sees the look of irritation that flashes across Happy’s face at being kept waiting, and he figures he probably shouldn’t bother the man with something so stupid anyway. No need to make himself look even more pathetic.

So Peter just shakes his head and tries to muster a reassuring look, but he’s certain he fails when Ned just continues to look worried. After a quick wave goodbye, Peter takes another deep breath and wills his feet to move forward.

It’s so heavy that he’s half-convinced if he looks down, he’ll see cracks in the pavement from where he’s stepped.

Happy opens the door for him, looking bored. Peter gets in, movements slow and lethargic, distantly frustrated at how incapacitated feeling like this makes him.

When they pull away, Peter lets his head fall forward onto the window, hoping the cool glass will offer some relief for him, ground him. He’s so far away, so worn and tired, that he doesn’t even notice the concerned looks Happy shoots him at his uncharacteristic quietness.

(It’s not quiet, though. His head is so loud.)

Peter spends the entirety of the ride to the Compound letting himself lay at the bottom of the pool, a thousand pounds of water weighing him down, filling his lungs, and making it difficult for him to breathe.

When they arrive, he sits there for a second, not really registering anything and wanting so so badly to just go to sleep. To sit here forever. To never have to move or do anything. To stop thinking.

But then Happy opens his door and calls his name, and he’s jolted into action, fumbling to undo his seatbelt clumsily.

He walks to Tony’s lab on autopilot. At one point, he just stops in the middle of the hallway, tempted to sink to his knees and curl up, but then he shakes his head and makes himself move.

Peter hates being like this.

(He’s useless.)

When FRIDAY opens the doors to Tony’s lab, the man himself looks up at him, already elbow-deep in his latest project.

“Hey, Pete. Your stuff is still on your desk how you left it last time, so feel free to keep working on it. I looked over your formulas, and I think you’re getting much closer to a more durable form of web fluid,” Tony tells him conversationally.

On a normal day, Peter would be absolutely preening under the high praise from his mentor. Today, however, all he can muster is a small smile, even the uplift of his lips draining him.

In the absence of a verbal response from the usually chatty kid, Tony does a double take.

“You okay, kid?” he asks cautiously, taking in the uncharacteristically subdued figure. Peter just nods his head, and Tony tilts his head, studious eyes taking in the kid’s sunken posture.

“Did something happen at school?” Tony prompts, brain rushing through the list of possibilities of things that could have reduced the teen to this. He sighs when he’s just met with another head shake.

For now, Tony decides to leave the kid be, opting to watch the kid from the corner of his eyes as he continues to work on his own project.

However, ten minutes later, Peter has had yet to move at all, staring unblinkingly at his open notebook, and it’s clear his mind isn’t in the room.

Full-blown concern rushes through Tony now, and he puts down his tools and brushes off his hands, turning his chair to face the young vigilante.

“Peter,” he calls, hoping to gain the boy’s attention. When he doesn’t even flinch, Tony tries again, making his voice a little sharper. “Pete, look at me,” he commands.

This time, Peter jumps, a strange mixture of surprise and guilt coloring his face, before it morphs back into a numb, blank slate. Tony moves closer, alarm racing through his veins because something is wrong with his kid. The older hero cautiously turns the boy’s chair to face him, reaching out with a single finger and tipping Peter’s face towards his own.

The heavy look in Peter’s eyes sends chills down his spine.

“Peter, do you think you can talk?” Tony asks.

A head shake.

“Okay, that’s perfectly fine,” Tony says. “Can you keep shaking your head yes and no?”

Peter nods slowly.

“Good, that’s very good,” Tony praises. And so the twenty questions begins. “I know I already asked, but did something happen today at school? Or even with May?”

Peter minutely shakes his head.

“Is it…” Tony hesitates, wondering how to phrase his words. “Is it a bad day?”

Peter nods. Inside he’s screaming and screaming but he’s at the bottom of a pool and he knows his words and pleas for relief would never make it to the surface. So he does his best to at least get this right.

“Okay,” Tony says, running a stressed hand through his hair. “We can work with that. Has this happened before?”

Another nod.

“Does May know?”

Peter hesitates, unsure of whether Tony means about the bad days in general or just today specifically. He nods anyway.

“Do you want me to leave you alone and let you work?”

Again, Peter hesitates. He doesn’t want to be left alone, and he definitely doesn’t have it in him to work on literally anything, but he also doesn’t want to make Tony worry even more or go out of his way to accommodate him. Tony must read it on his face anyway.

“That’s okay, we can do whatever you want. We don’t have to work in here. We can go somewhere else. Do you want to go lay down?” Tony asks, desperate to find a solution that will help. He can’t help but feel relieved when Peter nods, because oh god, Peter wants  _nothing_  more than to lay down. He’s so tired. He’s so damn tired. And it hurts to breathe. He feels like his lungs might stutter to a stop at any moment.

He barely even registers the moment when Tony gently puts an arm around him, guiding Peter out of his chair and to the elevator. Tony never once tries to force him to talk or make Peter feel bad for not being able to, and Peter’s never been so grateful.

They arrive a few floors up, and then Peter’s being ushered down to the end of a long hallway and through a door, leading to a vast room. Distantly, Peter takes in the sight of the slightly untidy room, screwdrivers and wires and spare parts that must follow Tony up from his lab strewn carelessly on the floor and dresser. Peter realizes with a jolt that this must be Tony’s room.

Without a word, Tony delicately tugs the kid forward, pushing him gently over and onto the large bed sitting against the far wall, and Peter looks up at him with uncertain eyes.

“It’s okay, kid,” Tony reassures, pulling up a comfy lounge chair next to the bed.

“Just close your eyes. I won’t leave you,” Tony promises.

And Peter sags into the mattress, curling his knees tightly to his chest and reminding himself that when he wakes up, perhaps breathing won’t feel so hard, and the pool of sadness won’t feel so deep.

A hand gently cards through his hair, and Peter, soothed by the tender touch of calloused hands, finally lets himself fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sure what this is. I can tell it's going to be a bad brain day, so I guess this is just my way of processing it by projecting it onto my faves.
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos and let me know what you think! Come scream at me on tumblr @the-great-escapism!! Thank you for reading.


End file.
